


Ring Master

by fab_fan



Series: Through the Years [11]
Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1910s, Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Historical, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Circus, Drama, F/F, It's Not a Musical, No Music in this Fic, One Shot, One True Pairing, Or Hugh Jackman, Pre-Relationship, Random & Short, Snark, The Author Regrets Everything, They're Still Witches, This Is What Happens When I Try and Fail to Get Through The Greatest Showman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29189673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fab_fan/pseuds/fab_fan
Summary: It smelled of peanuts.Peanuts and stale popcorn and crisp coarse straw that sharply poked and prodded at her feet and ankles every time she walked by the elephant cages, a wrinkly grey snout always seeming to sneak out and playfully bump her shoulder and snuffle at her neck.She could never get rid of the smell of cheap treats and sweat glistening under bright unrelenting sunshine or hot blazing lights. It clung to her skin, her clothes, her very being. The scent of anticipation and excitement. Dread and despair. Loneliness. Heartache. Hope and sorrow.
Relationships: Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Series: Through the Years [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065368
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	Ring Master

It smelled of peanuts.

Peanuts and stale popcorn and crisp coarse straw that sharply poked and prodded at her feet and ankles every time she walked by the elephant cages, a wrinkly grey snout always seeming to sneak out and playfully bump her shoulder and snuffle at her neck.

She could never get rid of the smell of cheap treats and sweat glistening under bright unrelenting sunshine or hot blazing lights. It clung to her skin, her clothes, her very being. The scent of anticipation and excitement. Dread and despair. Loneliness. Heartache. Hope and sorrow. 

Woven in between the fabric of her faded threadbare cotton shirt and scuffed scraggly boots was the feel of the train she’d ridden across the country in, stopping every few nights to perform before disappearing once again down the endless tracks of iron and rust, staking out her little corner of the car she shared with some of the rag-tag group that made up the show. Her skin prickled with the golden gritty dust that descended like a haze, a fog that never lifted, everywhere her feet led her. The smudged dirt that painted her fingers and marked her palms was more of an indication of her profession than any sort of paperwork could ever tell. Her senses were almost immune to the sights and sounds around her now. Barely registered the bray of the show horse the ringleader rode out on, a tall white stallion that was actually neither a stallion or all that white when the paint chipped away. Didn’t notice the scuffle of boots as the laborers shuffled by, carrying random planks of wood and hammers, needing to board up another broken stall or patch up the crumbling facade housing the fortune teller. Couldn’t smell the mud caking the soles of her calloused feet or feel the scratchiness of her old trousers against her scrawny legs.

Nothing much startled or surprised her anymore.

It was merely another day at work.

Another day to do Work.

Another day to make a few coins and do her best to not grit her teeth under the watchful eyes of the patrons. Not listen to their whispers or laughs or gasps.

All she focused on was putting one foot in front of the other. Doing what she needed to before retreating to her little corner somewhere far away from the humdrum of circus life.

Slipping around the corner of the railroad car that the trapeze artists shared with the clowns, Raelle absently dusted off her deep red vest that was meant to be the color of the sun setting in the west but looked more like the dregs of rust clutching onto the undercarriage of the train, and straightened her wilting white shirt that clung to her like a second skin in the damp humid afternoon. 

Her bright blue eyes the color of the sky and just as cloudy when it rained, glanced up as she skirted by two boys carrying an old busted up mirror that must have cracked during one of the stunts with the lions.

She caught a brief glimpse of herself in the reflection.

Hair half braided and the color of the wheat fields back home. Face ruddy and tanned except for the thin white line grazing her jaw from when she was young and even more foolish than she was now. She looked as tired as she felt. Her once bright red vest was a tad too small and her long shirt sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, uneven but pushed up far enough to show off her wrists and prove there was nothing hidden underneath. 

No, no sleight of hand nor tricks of the light with her act.

Her Work was real.

A true bonafide witch.

Tell all the papers. Shout it from the rooftops. 

The circus had gotten itself a true blue witch to perform acts of magic and mystery before your very eyes. Only a quarter to see the show!

Only a quarter to nab a shifty rough seat on the hastily erected wooden bench and jeer or clap as Raelle ducked under the inescapable spotlight and healed a nasty cut or caused her eyes to change color.

Goddess, she hoped they didn’t try to make her fly again.

Thank god for the trapeze troupe.

Exhaling loudly, Raelle mentally shook her head and picked up her pace.

The show would start in five minutes, and she needed to be ready to go on right after the clowns did their bit with the hoola hoops and fake tiger. Sooner if the animals acted up again and the clowns had to be called in to take over while the so called lion tamer tried to get the creatures under control.

Just like everyone else in the circus.

Someone was pulling the strings and pushing you around.

Feeling sweat dripping down her temple, a slow lazy dribble next to her ear and curving along her jaw, she lifted her shoulder and rubbed her face against the chafed fabric that had a small hole forming near the collar. 

Another day, another show.

Another day, another few coins to keep her alive that she could send back home.

Hopefully get to her father. Work was scarce in the Cession, and even scarcer for a man with a witch for a daughter and a dead wife to boot.

_Raelle stood in the doorway of their tiny home, the floorboards creaking and the windows crackling as the wind outside picked up a harsh gust that rattled the frame. A storm was coming. If she squinted toward the horizon, she could see the clouds brewing in the distance._

_Instead, she watched the old man, far more weathered and beaten than his years would dictate, slumbering in his rickety old rocking chair. A remnant from his family. An heirloom he’d packed up after burying his folks and moving his small family here._

_A small family he once thought would be all he’d need._

_That was before his wife was killed serving in the army._

_Before folks learned his daughter was a half-breed._

_That he was a human knowingly mingling with witches._

_Raelle bit her lip and looked down at the slip of paper crinkling in her hands._

_The paper was tattered but readable. Big bold block letters shouting out about the newest show sweeping across the land._

_A show looking for performers._

_Good pay. Honest work._

_Her throat bobbed as she swallowed thickly and sniffled. She tilted her head to rub her nose against her shoulder._

_Her dad hadn’t been given any work in who knows how long, and the bank was threatening to take the house._

_Raelle snorted._

_Wasn’t like she was going to be sticking around much longer anyway. Not with the oath coming up faster than a jackrabbit running from a wolf._

_She blinked and looked back up at her pop._

_The man who raised her._

_Did everything he could to help her. Take care of her._

_Folding the paper along the already formed creases, she shoved it into her pocket and bent to the side to grasp the pack her mom once used to carry her things with her back and forth from Fort Salem._

_With one last lingering glance, she turned and crept out the front door._

_The circus was a few miles away, and she didn’t have much time to waste._

What a life.

Raelle lifted her chin in a quick greeting to the fella on stilts meant to be the tallest man in the universe clambering by, accepting his wobbly wave with a faint quirk of her lips before diving around the flap leading into the oversized tent housing the world of make believe and wonder.

Or a bunch of folks trying their damndest to get through life by letting others laugh and point at them.

The witch closed her eyes for a brief moment. She thought back to her old home. Her dad, tired and lost, at the end of his rope and missing his wife like crazy.

A broken family in need of fixing.

Raelle was a fixer all her life. Just like her mama.

She was going to fix this. Mama taught her how.

“Collar!”

Her eyes slowly opened at the brisk shout. Peeking over her shoulder, she spotted the sprightly man springing toward her, his tall hat black as night and coat dotted with gleaming gold colored buttons.

“Yeah?” Raelle adjusted the hem of her waistcoat and watched him approach.

“Where’ve you been?” his face was soaked with sweat and lips chapped.

She shrugged, “Here.”

“Well, here better be out there. Patrick lost the stuffed tiger and the audience is restless.” he began to shove her towards the stage.

“How could he lose a stuffed tiger? Thing’s as big as me.”

“We think the lion ate it.”

“Lions don’t eat tigers.”

“Maybe it was a bear.”

“Oh my.” one of the trapeze artists, a high flyer named Stella, floated by with a wink. “Collar, my place after? Got a new phonograph record for you to listen to.”

Raelle smirked.

Stella didn’t have a phonograph, and she sure as hell never owned a phonograph record in her life.

“Collar! Focus!” the man snapped his fingers in her face like the dogs he commanded to jump through hoops during the opening act.

Raelle glared at him, a twinge of anger sparking in her gut, “I got it. I’m going.”

“See that you do. Can’t afford to refund anyone because of this.”

“You can't ever afford to refund anyone ever.” The money from the show was already spent before they collected the ticket fees.

“Just get out there.” he gave her one large push. “Damned freak.”

Raelle stumbled past the crates and ropes to catch her footing right inside the main entrance to the staging area. A large dirt and sand filled stretch of circles and colors, props and banners, flags and wires, surrounded by bleachers that looked ready to fall any moment.

They’d already had two stops ago.

She’d nearly gotten herself whipped and knocked herself out trying to heal the kids caught under the pile of debris.

Neither their parents nor her bosses much approved of her jumping into the fray.

Taking a breath, Raelle pulled back her shoulders and held her head high as she strolled out to the center of the makeshift stage.

A hush fell over the crowd, a few laughs and muted whispers filling the silence.

“Now, what you’ve all been waiting for!” the ringleader’s voice boomed out from behind her. “For our next act, we present to you deep from the bowels of the underworld, born out of the mystical realm and traveled far and wide to dazzle and impress you all with her supernatural preternatural wholly unnatural gifts…”

Raelle fought to not roll her eyes.

It was all goopy. Stupid nonsense. 

Everyone knew witches existed, even if most pretended they were some foreign myth that they’d never meet in their life...except for at the circus.

“Prepare to be astounded and amazed by the Great Witch of the South!”

A smattering of applause followed as Raelle took her customary bow and approached the middle circle, the rabbit she would have to both harm and heal being carried out by one of the clowns in a tiny cage as the twirling dancers with their contortionist moves slithered through their routines on either side in their own circled areas.

She made a show of pushing her sleeves up farther till they teetered along her biceps, showing there was nothing in her hands or up her sleeves. Rolling her neck, she quickly scanned the crowd as the cage was set up, a knife eased in place next to the fluffy creature.

The act was simple.

Cut the rabbit’s throat.

Heal it.

Listen to the gasps and applause. The jeers. The shouts. The roar.

Simple.

Easy.

Didn’t matter she could sometimes feel the warm blood dripping down her wrists. Felt the dying heartbeat skipping in the palm of her hand.

That sometimes the audience angrily yelled at her. Told her to leave. To be locked up. Burned.

That sometimes they threw things.

Other times they clapped loud enough to deafen her.

Pointed in awe.

Kids rushed after her once the show was done, trying to find her and see if she was real. 

Adults watched her equal parts wary and intrigued. Suspicious and interested. Disgusted and delighted.

The first time they ever saw a witch do Work.

Were confronted by the power that a woman could hold.

A witch could wield. 

Made them uncomfortable except for the fact that witches served them. Either as entertainment or soldiers.

Eyes tripping along the many faces, a blur of hair, eyes, and hats, eagerness and impatience, she felt the urge to reach into her pocket and touch the coin shaped medallion tucked away safely inside. 

Her mama’s old medal.

A reminder of home. Of family. Of loss. Of why she was even there.

Of who she was.

Who she could be.

Her mother’s voice murmured in her ear.

_You have a gift, girl._

Preparing herself to pick up the knife, her gaze swept to the end of the bleachers before the customer entrance served as a chasm between the seats.

That’s when she saw her.

Unable to breathe, Raelle felt the lights fade away. The colors turned dark. The sounds of the chittering crowd, the booming ringleader, the tightrope walker overhead, all disappeared.

The entire world snuffed out like the flame of a candle.

All except for the beautiful brunette seated against the edge of the bleachers.

Raelle felt her heart stop. 

Eyes like the storms she’d watch in amazement as a kid, blue and so deep Raelle lost herself and never wanted to be found. Lips winsome and delicate, a pretty pale pink that were flattened with a sort of unhappiness that made Raelle want to duck away. To take off the too tight waistcoat and back away from the ring, the invisible chains holding her there tugging harshly at her wrists and ankles to hold her in place. Dressed in a plain shirt and pair of trousers, nearly raven hair, when the lights cast in a certain way on her, curving around her pale face, the girl was a vision. Raelle’s fingers itched to reach out to push a stray lock behind her ear, to glide down the cut of her jaw, cup her chin and tip her face up so Raelle could stare into her eyes forever. Her feet begged to move forward. To walk up to her and kneel at her feet. Words clawed at the back of her throat. “Hello.” “What’s your name.” “You’re beautiful.” 

There was something about her.

Something Raelle couldn’t describe.

But, it was strong. Pure.

It called to her.

Raelle didn’t know she had frozen in place until those eyes met hers.

And her entire body felt like it was on fire.

Yet, she wanted more.

Those eyes.

That face.

This girl…

“Collar!” 

Raelle licked her lips.

“Collar!”

Seductive lips flickered as those eyes drew her in. A swirling cacophony of curiosity and sadness. Anger. 

Understanding.

“COLLAR!”

Raelle jumped at the rage-filled shout. 

The world zapped back to life, a roar filling her ears and a shudder pounding in her chest.

Blinking rapidly, she inhaled sharply at the sudden assault on her senses.

The ringleader gestured at her wildly from just off stage, face purple and hands jerking.

Right.

The show.

Curling her hands and flexing her fingers, Raelle looked once more at the girl.

Those dark blue eyes were watching her intensely.

Raelle could feel them the entire act.

* * *

Stumbling past the popcorn standing, the smell of burning oil tickling her nostrils, Raelle pinched the bridge of her nose. She could feel a headache forming as she walked as fast as she could, the bottom of her right shoe beginning to flap with each step.

She’d have to see about scrounging up a bit of thread and needle to try to sew up the old leather.

She picked up her pace, needing to get away from her bosses. From all the people who watched her fumble through her act, some concerned, some ready to throttle her.

She’d healed the rabbit. That was all that mattered when it came time to cut the check.

If the boss wanted to have words later and drag her into his roving train car office by the scruff of her neck, well...wasn’t the first time she protected herself from people bigger and physically stronger than her.

He could take his complaints and cash them at the bank along with all the tickets she helped sell to keep this show going.

Letting her hand drop to her side, her head swiveled around like a cheap toy sold near the candy and peanuts. 

It was a large crowd for the small city.

Adults. Kids. Big and small. Some eating sweets. Some holding balloons. 

Some laughed. Some talked. Some took in the sights.

Where was she?

Who was she?

Raelle didn’t know what had happened, but she couldn’t stop seeing the dark haired girl. Couldn’t get her face out of her mind.

Could only look at her the entire time she was on stage.

Never let her eyes drift away until she was ushered away offstage, the fire eaters needing to take her place with their lit up torches and turbans. 

That face stayed in her head even as she darted away from Stella’s concerned glance and a few shouts of her name.

It should make her nervous. Scared. Cautious.

She knew girls.

Had been with her fair share. 

But this...this girl.

There was something different about her.

Something special. Unique.

Magical.

Spinning around in a tiny circle, she searched every face. 

Nothing.

Was she still in the tent?

Had she left?

Was she gone forever?

Raelle ignored the looks sent her way. The children edging closer to her. The adults frowning at the witch. At the _other_. The oddity. 

At least they didn’t want to burn her at the stake or hang her from the nearest tree.

Like one town a few weeks ago had.

The sun was hot. Her clothes stuck to her uncomfortably. Latched on and tried to suffocate her like the eyes of the audience as she performed day after day. Her hair was limp and ragged from the humidity and effort to perform.

She was a mess.

Yet, all she could think about was that girl.

A sardonic light clapping echoed behind her, and Raelle twirled around to come face to face with those eyes.

Those deep blue eyes.

“Well done. Quite the show.” The other girl spoke flatly, but there was something there, hidden in the syllables and shadows. Something darker. A tiny thread of emotion that piqued Raelle’s mind like a crooked finger in the middle of the night from a beautiful woman spread out in bed.

“Greatest Show this side of the Mississippi.” Raelle replied, unsure of herself for the first time since she’d left home but not willing to show it.

An eyebrow lifted, “Is it? Here I thought that was Barnum and Bailey.”

“Nah. Bunch of cheap thrills over there.”

“You’re not?”

“Not at all. ‘Sides, they don’t have what we do.”

“What is that?”

“Me.” Raelle answered. She silently gulped as the other girl moved closer to her.

Her eyes seemed to darken and sparkle as the sunlight hit them just so. The curve of her smirk was both sharp as the blade Raelle used in her act and as softly hypnotizing as the watch used by the snake charmer.

“You?” The girl looked Raelle up and down, mouth and brow flickering, “A performing monkey.”

_Performing monkey._

The temperature plummeted to a blizzard chill, and Raelle felt hot under her collar. She bristled at the insult. Whatever smile had been on her face was gone. Replaced by a sneer. A burst of bubbling anxious anger that churned in her belly and scalded the back of her throat. Her muscles tensed and jaw locked painfully.

“Pardon?” the blonde grit out, eyes narrowing and spine turning to steel.

The girl scoffed, “Of course. Or, would you prefer dancing devil? Is that your next trick? World’s greatest. Will they make you fly next? Throw you in a vat of water to see if you’ll drown or float?”

Raelle felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise angrily, “Enjoy the rest of the circus, Miss.”

She needed to get out of there before she did something that got her locked up.

“Cannot handle the truth?” the girl responded as Raelle began to turn away from her.

“Truth?” Raelle whipped back around to face her again. Her voice lowered with a growl, words spat out like venom, “I ain’t no performing monkey.”

“No? You just did Work when told to. As a show.” Her eyes were cold, voice icy, but a flame flickered in her gaze, “Chained yourself to a master even before conscription.”

“I’m working.”

“You’re doing their bidding.”

Raelle pushed closer to her, noting the soft floral perfume wafting around her, “I’m making an honest living.”

“Honest? You call this honest?” she snorted. “I saw your ticket seller short change a family with a small child and an infant not two minutes ago. Your white stallion was dripping paint, and the wooden stilts were visible underneath your tallest man’s trouser cuffs.” She tilted her head, “Then, there is the Great Witch of the South. Whisked away from Satan himself.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me, Miss.” Raelle ground out. “Don’t talk about me like you do.”

“I know you’re a witch. You perform for civilians. Let them laugh at you. Make fun of you.”

“I earn money.” Raelle shot back. “I’m doing what I can.”

The girl rolled her eyes.

Raelle shook her head, “Ain’t work out there for people like me. Tell me who’s hiring witches. Tell me.” Her chest shuddered and her hands quivered, “I need money. Ain’t old enough to enlist yet. Till they take me, I’m doing what I can to survive.”

“This isn’t surviving.”

“Who do you think you are?” Raelle didn’t back down, not showing how her words cut through her like the blade slicing across the rabbit’s throat. 

Who was this girl talking about surviving and conscription?

Raelle knew about sacrifice. Loss. Doing everything to survive when no one gave you a chance. 

She knew what price was paid for conscription. What it did to someone.

What being a witch in this world meant.

A poor witch.

There weren’t any choices out there for someone like her. 

Never had been.

The girl ignored her question, appraising the fuming blonde, “You’ve chosen one set of chains before being forced into another.” Her gaze softened ever so slightly, “Those hands are far too beautiful to be covered in chains, even if they cannot be seen.”

Raelle blinked at the unexpected words, her heart skipping. Her words scratched at the roof of her mouth, “What do you know about chains?”

“I’m just like you.”

It dawned on Raelle, “A witch.”

A nod, “But,” she held up her wrists, “I’m free.”

“Free?”

“Yes.”

Raelle didn’t understand, “We’re not free. You might not have taken the oath yet but…”

“I’m free.” the girl spoke firmly. “We don’t have to listen to them. _You_ don't have to.” Her voice picked up, “They want you to be their slave. To serve them from birth to death. Never have your own life. Make your own decisions. Be whoever you want to be. It’s wrong. You don’t owe them anything. We are so much more than the civilians believe we are. Then we’ve let ourselves be.” Her hand slipped around Raelle’s, “You’re incredibly powerful. You can be so much more than this.”

_You have powerful work inside of you, girl._

Raelle shook her head at the memory of her mother’s words and this stranger’s proclamation, fighting against the way her mind whirled and soul awakened ever so slightly, rising after a much too long slumber. She stepped back, almost ripping her hand away from the other girl’s, “I don’t know who you are, but you better get out of here.”

The girl eyed her, seeming both unsurprised yet disappointed, “You know it’s true.” She didn’t move away, “I can see it. You agree with me. You know witches aren’t meant to be _this_. Something to be displayed. Like a wild animal. Like we’re not human. People. We’re not meant to be laughed at until they throw us into a uniform and send us to die.”

She rubbed her hands together, thumb pressing into the center of her palm as she willed herself to not react to the words being thrown at her. Words she’d secretly thought more and more since her mama was sent back in a pinebox. Even before then. “I know that I ain’t got nothing more to say to you, Miss.” There was no way out. Not for witches. The only way was how her mama ended up, and she sometimes hoped it happened sooner rather than later.

Hope wasn’t something Raelle believed in.

It did nothing but cause more pain and agony.

And, this girl was trying to offer a sense of hope that she wasn’t going to be buried next to her mama before she was twenty, another nameless faceless soldier whose fate never mattered much to anyone except her father, and even he knew what to expect once his daughter was born with the mark.

“Scylla.”

“What?”

“My name is Scylla.”

Raelle let the name roll around in her head.

She liked it.

“May I have yours before you completely kick me out? Or shall I refer to you as The Great Witch of the South from now on?”

Raelle frowned at the teasing, “Raelle.”

“Raelle.” she nodded to herself, “I hope we meet again sometime, Raelle.”

It was unlikely. The show was leaving that night and wouldn’t stop till they were another state over on their way to the coast.

For some reason, that made Raelle’s mood sullen.

She wasn’t quite sure what to make of Scylla, but she couldn’t help but want to find out.

Reaching into her pocket, Scylla extracted a neatly folded piece of parchment paper. She held it out with an indescribable smile, “Till we meet again.”

Raelle looked at it warily before gingerly accepting the slick paper, “Sure.” She couldn’t help but notice the way her darker grime covered skin contrasted with the washed marble hued tone of the other witch’s. How dried blood still skirted under her own short fingernails whereas Scylla’s only had specks of the dust from the day.

“Have a good evening, Raelle. Pleasure making your acquaintance.” Scylla gave a curt little bow of her head and was gone in a blink, lost in the crowd, the last vestiges of her voice hanging in the stifling air like a windchime singing in the early morning breeze.

Alluring yet fleeting.

Surrounded by people hemming and hawing, the paper felt like burning coal, a glowing ember, in her grasp. Carefully, she unfolded it. 

She was met by simple script, small and cursive, dancing across the little spot the words took up.

_The way out is in._

“Collar!”

Quickly refolding the paper and jamming it in her pocket, Raelle spotted Jake, the head clown, face paint thick and melting onto his oversized frilly tunic, waving frantically at her as he hopped on one foot.

That probably meant she had to go back on stage. 

Except, she’d just been on stage. Not more than half an hour ago.

Which meant...

Someone was hurt.

Raelle raced over to the harried man, “Who?”

“Penelope.”

The tightrope walker.

Raelle was off, jogging back toward the main show tent. Jake rumbled at her side, his oversized shoes and protruding cotton belly making him tumble about, “Rope went slack all of a sudden. She dropped like a sack of potatoes. Then, nothing.” He gasped out, “Got ‘er out of there ‘fore the crowd saw much, but she ain’t moving none. Big ol’ mess, is what she is.”

Raelle did her best to listen as she scrambled forward.

Tipping around the curve of the tent, she was met with a group of people, costumes glimmering in the light like diamonds and gems of every shape and color. Pushing past the first few, the rest quickly stepped out of the way, allowing her to see the crumpled heap of broken bones and torn flesh leaned against an old barrel meant to hold scraps.

The fixer paused only for half a breath to see what was before her before diving down to her side.

It didn’t look good.

The woman wasn’t moving.

It didn’t even look like she was breathing. 

Tangled locks covered her face where specks of red infused with mottled blues and purples across translucent skin. Flecks of sand and dirt mixed with the garish pink of her costume. 

Her eyes were closed and mouth unmoving.

Rubbing her hands together, Raelle swiftly pressed them to the woman’s neck, gentle yet solid, unconsciously seeking out the faint thrum of a pulse. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of her own heartbeat, her measured breaths, the whispers of life fading away under her calloused palms.

The rest of the group were silent as the verses began to softly flow out of her mouth, swirling around her lips and hovering in the quiet, the rest of the chaotic carnival blocked out by worried glances and mumbled prayers.

Eyes squeezed shut and body shaking with the effort it took to redirect the life force seeping out around them, Raelle felt the tether anchor itself, an invisible link that snagged into her body and hooked itself in her blood.

The first snap was painful, a jolt that had her words stuttering.

She didn’t stop.

Not till Penelope opened her eyes and Raelle was slumped against the barrel herself, marks marring her skin and a deep ache settled in her bones. Her lungs wheezed as she fought to breathe against the pain radiating throughout her body, fire burning and chest heavy with an unseen weight that was worse than ten elephants stamping down on her frail frame.

She could hear her mama’s voice in her head scolding her.

_You’ve taken on too much again, child. I’ve told you time and again never to do that. You must listen to me._

“What’s going on here?” a voice boomed as Raelle felt her eyes grow murky and her head threaten to loll back. A light hand gently touched her shoulder before ripping itself away.

Raelle opened one eye to see the ringleader, the boss, standing in the middle of the group, hands on his hips and face purple, facial muscles twitching furiously.

He took one look at her and snarled, “Save it for the show. Get. All of you. Back to your spots. Now! And you,” He snapped his spindly fingers and pointed at Raelle, “Get yourself cleaned up and changed. You better be ready for the next show or else.” Turning on his heel, he muttered, “Good for nothing witch.”

Body hurting and mind foggy, Raelle slowly climbed to her feet, swaying dangerously as the world spun violently and bile burned her throat. Steadying herself against the barrel, she picked her way toward the train cars, forgetting until nightfall, after the last show had been performed, the tent torn down, and the train chugging along, about the note thrust into her pocket.

As the stars shone overhead, she nestled into the ragged quilt and dreamt about blue eyes, a sultry smirk, and five easy words.

_The way out is in._

**Author's Note:**

> Instead of slogging through The Greatest Showman film, I wrote this instead. Don't blame me. Blame the movie.
> 
> Feel free to drop a kudos or comment. Always appreciated. All the applause to you folks who keep reading my stuff. A million and one thanks.


End file.
